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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181981">Winter Festival</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctum_c/pseuds/sanctum_c'>sanctum_c</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tifa Week 2018 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Childhood, Childhood Memories, Gen, Illnesses, Making The Best of a Bad Situation, Missing Scene, New Years, Nibelheim (Compilation of FFVII), Not Before Crisis (Compilation of FFVII) Compliant, Not Crisis Core (Compilation of FFVII) Compliant, Not Dirge of Cerberus (Compilation of FFVII) Compliant, Not Final Fantasy VII Remake Compliant, POV Tifa Lockhart, Pre-Canon, Pre-Final Fantasy VII, Traditions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2018-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2018-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:06:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,349</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctum_c/pseuds/sanctum_c</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The New Year’s festival was a big event in Nibelheim for as long as Tifa could remember. Mom insisted her presence there extended to before her birth. The thought gave Tifa an odd sense of warmth at age seven. This was part of her family’s life – particularly given her mother and father’s roles in the celebrations. While their roles as the leaders of the town were so much less dramatic than those in the local myths, it still conferred a need to lead the event.</i>
</p><hr/><p>Tifa wants to take part in the Nibelheim New Year's festival but is too ill.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tifa Lockhart &amp; Tifa Lockhart's Mother</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tifa Week 2018 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Winter Festival</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the free day - and from the following suggestion by tiiifa on Tumblr: Hmm…maybe you can do something with her mom and/or childhood?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The New Year’s festival was a big event in Nibelheim for as long as Tifa could remember. Mom insisted her presence there extended to before her birth. The thought gave Tifa an odd sense of warmth at age seven. This was part of her family’s life – particularly given her mother and father’s roles in the celebrations. While their roles as the leaders of the town were so much less dramatic than those in the local myths, it still conferred a need to lead the event. Excitement for the occasion came in two strands. There was the fun of the event - the feast and the dancing, the celebration. The ending of one year and the beginning of the next. The other was more basic and selfish. As much as Mom – and often dad – insisted there was more to the holiday, getting presents was the part Tifa was most excited about. She shouldn’t be – according to most of the adults, who waxed on and on about how much more fulfilling it was to give presents.</p><p>The town prepared nearly a full month in advance, structures now sporting lights and flourishes of decorations as the snows began to fall and the temperature plummeted. Mount Nibel remained off-limits to the youngsters. They all knew this simple fact but the adults still felt the need to reiterate the warning like every other year. One day she would climb to the top of it and see what was past the mountain - one of the effective ends of her world – and trace the winding trail leading from the gate.</p><p>Snow was irresistible; Tifa spent long hours after school charging around in the fresh layer coating the town. A few patches remained untouched; not least the gardens around the Shinra mansion. No child was willing to enter those grounds – nor did the adults seem any further encouraged. Little need of warnings for the crumbling building.</p><p>More warnings elsewhere. No more climbing up the water tower; not after one of the older kids slipped off and broke their arm. No playing after dark for similar reasons. And now there seemed to be restrictions everywhere; Tifa got warned about spending too much time out in the snow.</p><p>Tifa knew when she had had enough snow. The technical answer was never, though in purely practical terms, the answer was when her fingers and toes were numb, or it was too dark to see (though playing in fall snow as night fell and the only illumination was the streetlights and perhaps the dull glow of the moon, was a hard circumstance to pass up). Snow tended to hang around the town, but from past experience, it would be gone sooner than she would like. And why did the adults seem to hate it so much? Mom – and Dad when she prompted him – was always telling her she would catch a cold if she insisted on playing outside all the time. Mom’s words would make her pause, but one or other of her friends would come to the door and, well, there was snow to play in.</p><p>The day before New Year’s Eve, Tifa had gone to bed with a persistent sniffle – her Dad telling her at irregular intervals to blow her nose. Not helpful, and Mom tucked her into bed, but she could not sleep after. A long and restless night later (the snow started falling again at some point and Tifa snuck from her bed to peer out the window and watch the flakes drift down into the plaza, briefly coloured by proximity to other lights), and Tifa wheezed with each breath. Her nose streamed, her head spun when she crawled out of bed, every movement a chore.</p><p>She only made it as far as downstairs before Mom harried her right back up again and into bed. “What about the festival?” Mom cracked open the medicine.</p><p>“We’ll see.” The grim tone in her voice usually meant no. Any chance not this time?</p><p>“But, I have to go.” Tifa swallowed the medicine, the sweetened goo oddly painful as she swallowed it. At least it tasted nice. “Don’t you have to?”</p><p>“Dad can cope on his own.”</p><p>“But…” Tifa squirmed. “You were going to lead this year.” Leading – from what Tifa picked up – meant reciting long passages from books, telling people which songs to sing and lighting fires. “I thought you wanted to.”</p><p>Mom shook her head. “I can’t go do that while you’re ill.”</p><p>“I’ll be okay?” Tifa tried. She was seven. She knew how to use the microwave and under no circumstances should she answer the door to anyone she didn’t know.</p><p>“I’m sure you would, but I don’t mind.” Mom smiled at her. She pressed her palm against Tifa’s forehead and frowned. “Still a bit warm. I need to do some chores. Can you try and sleep for a bit?”</p><p>“Can’t I read?” The pile of books by her bed would be a decent way to pass the time stuck indoors.</p><p>“Give sleeping a try first.” Mom stood up. “Might make you feel better and then you can go out to the festival.”</p><p>Definitely encouraging. Tifa burrowed under the covers; Mom switched off the light and headed downstairs. Sleeping during the day was not easy. The sounds of people in the streets were audible through the closed window. The bustling of adults and the excited shouting of her friends. Tifa almost went for the door when someone banged on it. Mom’s voice murmured in response to a question Tifa could not hear; the door closed. No footsteps on the stairs; if the caller was one of her friends, Mom had passed on the bad news about her.</p><p>An eternity after trying, Tifa picked up her book and clicked on her bedside lamp. She was not getting to sleep like this and read until Mom came with a bowl of soup around lunchtime. A brief try to hide the book, click off the light and get back under the covers earned her a stern look from Mom, but she sat on the bed and shared the bowl of soup with Tifa. Mom pressed her hand to Tifa’s forehead again and again encouraged her to sleep when she took the bowl away.</p><p>Tifa tried again, sleep continuing to evade her. She squirmed around again, lying on first one side and rolling over to the other. She could keep on reading. No. Tifa screwed her eyes tight closed and remained lying on her pillow. Mom shook her awake; she had not heard her coming up the stairs- The windows dark and the room was gloomy, her lamp the only source of light. “Hi.” Mom's voice was soft. “How are you feeling?” Tifa sat up groggily. Tired in a way she had not been before, limbs stiff and the world too warm. She kicked at the blanket.</p><p>“Too hot.”</p><p>Mom touched her forehead again. “Still not right.” She sighed.</p><p>“But I won’t get cold outside!” Tifa protested. Too much finality in Mom’s posture and words. Tifa was not going to go to the festival.</p><p>“Maybe. But that’s risky too; you won’t know if you’re getting a worse cold.”</p><p>Not much Tifa could say to that. “You can still go.”</p><p>Mom smiled. “I’ll let Dad do that.” She glanced to the window. “But we can watch at least.”</p><p>“We?” Tifa blinked. “Watch?”</p><p>“I think we can see some of it from here. And if bundle you up warmly we might be able to open the window.” Mom was nodding. “Do you feel hungry?”</p><p>“A little, I guess?”</p><p>“I’ll get us some snacks. Sorry it’s not the same. Or maybe we could have our own mini-festival?”</p><p>“Both?” A new hopeful spark flourished in Tifa. “A new tradition maybe?”</p><p>Mom grinned. “Okay. I’ll get one of the song sheets and-“ She gestured with her hands. “-some candles.”</p><p>“You can lead this one. And I’ll do next year,” Tifa offered.</p><p>“Okay.” Tifa sat up as Mom went back downstairs. Better to have been with everyone else, but at least she would not miss out. Neither would Mom.</p>
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